


The Missing Queen

by Inky_Pens



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: POV Cardan Greenbriar, Spoilers for Book 2: The Wicked King
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens/pseuds/Inky_Pens
Summary: This takes place entirely in Cardan’s POV, depicting the 4-5 weeks that Jude was kept hostage in the Undersea. I won’t take many liberties with characterization, but given everything we know about Cardan comes from first-person Jude, I will need to take some. Enjoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**The Wedding**

 

I should not be attending this shambles of an event, though it seems Madoc spared no expense, even by Faerie standards. Would it be uncouth to ask Jude how much her father makes as Grand General to the High King? Speaking of, I look around surreptitiously for my seneschal, Elfhame's great puppeteer, if nothing more than to see her divine figure again in the silver wisps of her dress. She has never dressed so… _brazenly_ before, nor as womanly. I question whether this dress was her first choice but quickly dismiss the idea. No, if Jude is going to show off, it is not going to be at the reliance of her feminine wiles, which is a shame. Mortal bodies come in a fascinating number of shapes and sizes, all so very different from the Fey, and Jude’s is no exception. I have come to memorize the dips and curves of her as she features prominently in my dreams.

But she features heavily in my nightmares as well, and I am loath to forget that.

As usual with thoughts of my seneschal, they have wandered too far, and I am now with an audience of courtiers, who beg for just a moment of the High King’s time. A moment becomes another and begets a lifetime of headache. Fortunately, I am only beholden to seven—no, nearly six months longer of this theater of kingsmanship, at which point I turn it back over into great and capable mortal hands. The Folk may not be able to lie aloud, but nothing stops us from lying to ourselves. The horrifying truth is that I would not so much mind our continued partnership, though I could do without her commanding me as though I am the subservient mortal. I dismiss my annoying, simpering subjects with a flippant wave and walk toward the effervescent green wine. I am just about to lift an overflowing goblet to my lips when suddenly, flying fingers snatch the sloshing cup from my face and bring it to her nose.  

 “Other kings would have your hands for that,” I scold her without ire.

I watch her lips twitch with want to retort, but dutifully, she keeps it to herself. I need to stop looking at her mouth before she notices. To distract us both, I raise my brow at her, gesturing with my hand to let out with her thoughts.

She subtly dips her bottom lip into the wine, quickly sweeping the moisture with the tip of her tongue, and I have to tense every muscle in every extremity to keep my urges in check. She’s trying to kill me. I scoff to myself at how literal that thought may be.

Satisfied, she returns the goblet to its rightful owner. I took a long pull from it while she speaks.

“Other kings would be dead if they drank as fervently as you in every setting, uncaring of those who may wish to poison them,” she smarts back. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, sucking whatever remains on it. I know better than to offer pouring her a glass she would refuse.

“And you are willing to risk poisoning yourself, are you?”

She only shrugs. Another secret in her arsenal but I do not wish to dwell on the meaning of it. Jude is many things, but selfless is not one of them. I down the contents of the goblet and take the shimmering bottle from the table. Might as well.

“So, happy to see your sister betrothed to your lover?” 

“He wasn’t my lover,” she spits, but the response comes just a bit too quick with an undercurrent of denial. “Let us both hope that your friend and Master of Revels does not cause my sister heartache, or you may find yourself short on debauchery for a while.”

I try to decipher the meaning behind her words. Does she still feel the sting of jealousy, or is it betrayal permeating her tone? I gather the latter means more to Jude than her silly infatuation with Locke, a most unscrupulous one, but perhaps I tell myself this because I do not understand why I am so bothered by her being charmed in the first place. Knowing her as I do now, five months of working under her thumb, I can see that Jude does not suffer fools. What of Locke garnered her favor and her trust? His perchance for deception rivals my own. If I have crafted a life out of it, Locke has woven it into his very breath.

“Excuse me. I need to attend to something.” Jude is called over by a guard I do not know and exchanges a severe glance with the guards around me, no doubt warning them to ensure my safety. As she walks from me, I watch her hips unconsciously sway, just only noticing how she is favoring her left leg. By the time she is out of my sight, I am halfway through the wine. 

\- - - -

Halfway through the evening, I have had my fill of liquor and nevermore. The lights are too bright, the colors too vibrant, and everything is spinning both too fast and too slow. My Great Seneschal, the Queen I have heard them call her, must be sulking around in the shadows. I heard her twin lament her absence earlier and caught Locke’s wink toward me—a gesture I acknowledged with a lazy smirk. Though his amusements and exploits are usually the kind I delight in, I have an uncomfortable dissatisfaction towards the wedge this must have driven between Jude and her sister. Locke tells me Jude drew her blade in a duel. If it was not for Oak, I wonder, would Jude even be here with bear witness? With her brother long gone and safely ensconced in her father’s estate for the remainder of the evening , the threat from Orlagh is over—at least for tonight.

“Go fetch the seneschal. Tell her I am departing for the evening,” I order one of my guards. He nods once but returns within a brief moment.

“Your Majesty, she is no longer in attendance on this estate.” 

“Ah, no matter. Take me to the palace, then.” I will not goad her for the evening, only because I know my inebriation annoys her to no end, and I do not wish to draw her ire when she is already short-tempered. The last thing I wish to bring upon myself is her command against my indulgences. I am secretly grateful beyond measure that she has not yet banned them.

I go out of my way to pass by her apartments, stopping briefly to press my ear to the door. I wonder if she turned in for the evening. I wonder why I care.

The last thing I remember is falling into bed with thoughts of wine on her lips.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I awaken to the Bomb and the Roach standing uninvited at the foot of my bed, solemn and stern. 

“Your Highness,” begins the Bomb, as if she does not trust her brusque partner to relay whatever urgent news they bring me, and it must be urgent if they are using the hidden corridors to enter my room in the evening. “The Queen is missing.”

I must still be half-asleep or drunk, because the severity of her words does not register immediately. Fortunately, the Roach picks up on it.

“She means Jude. She was reported to have left with Ghost, though we do not know where he has gone either. They deviated from the missions as planned. Vulciber may have been with them; we are working to confirm that.”

“Madoc—” I begin, but the Roach interjects, shaking his head.

“We checked there first. The General did not seem to express much concern, but her sisters could not recall seeing her after arrival. We are sending our own to the Tower of Forgetting to retrieve Vulciber and confirm the security of your brother.”

All I can do is nod. Jude is the one who presides over these things. She understands urgency, prioritization. I try to think of what she would do in this situation, her own disappearance, and I draw a blank. 

“She is likely sulking in the woods.” I try for nonchalance, as if the notion of Jude being in danger is a ridiculous one. It sounds thin to my own ears, and I do not have her here to pass a sideways glance towards me that silently lets me know she thinks so as well. So instead, I do the thing I am best at. “Leave me. She will turn up tomorrow, and if you are lucky, her foul mood over tonight’s event will have dissipated.”

I can tell the two spies want to argue, the Bomb especially, but they grit their teeth and give sharp nods anyway. I get the impression they will ignore my dismissive remarks and search for her themselves. Before the Bomb exits through the hidden corridor behind the bookshelf, she turns to me.

“She was injured sometime between her departure from palace yesterday and her arrival at her sister’s wedding. A deep wound, I believe from a bolt, was located on her thigh. I only just glimpsed it, but the gash was deep enough that she must have stitched it herself.  She said nothing to you about it?”

My breath catches painfully in my throat. “No, she did not.” I drop my gaze, an odd feeling blooming in my chest. I noticed a strange gait about her as she walked away toward whatever business she was attending to. Why did I not stop her to inquire about it?”

The pixie-imp only nods, and I can tell she is troubled by Jude’s absence. When they have left, I mutter to myself that this is nothing with which I ought to concern myself. She will turn up tomorrow. And because I am cold and cruel, I send the guards to gather courtiers who can serve as a distraction to the foreboding I cannot shake. I pace around my room until their arrival, drinking until I am too drunk to care about anything outside of myself.

When sun is beginning to set, I untangle myself from limbs wrapped like vines around me, stepping over a few other dazed Fey littering my floor. The guards that stand outside my bedchamber doors are stoic and formidable, hand-selected by the seneschal herself after she ran them through a series of tests—one of which included duels with her and the Ghost. She was adamant against Madoc selecting the King’s personal knights, which reveals a bit about her relationship with her pseudo-father. I find it odd that I want to know more about her relationships at all.

“Remove these simpering guests from my sight and find an imp to bring me tea.”

One of the guards responds with an efficient nod. “Yes, Your Majesty. The Living Council is meeting in General Madoc’s strategy room. Do you wish to be escorted?”

“No, I am sure my seneschal is there.” _Making decisions on my behalf_ , I think to myself.

If the knight is surprised, he does not show it, but he does carefully consider how to contradict me. “The seneschal has not been seen at the palace today, Your Highness. She is not in attendance at their meeting.”

I roll my eyes and walk down the hall towards her apartments. ‘Has not been seen’ does not mean she is not here, but it is unlike her to miss Council meetings. Honestly, her pouting is the height of immaturity. “I want them out of my room before I return and breakfast awaiting me!” I call out. 

When I reach her apartments, her door is open and there she stands with her back to me. I watch her bend down to retrieve something—a folded paper, it looks like—and she startles when she catches my reflection in the mirror in front of her. Her cheeks flush, which is very Jude-like trait, but her abrupt bow and refusal to make eye contact are very un-Jude. Ah, so it is the other one. She looks as though she has been caught out.

“Does Jude know you sneak into her apartment?”

Taryn looks as though she wants to deny it. Her mouth opens and closes like a nixie hungry for prey. Interesting. There is no hesitation with Jude. Lies roll off her tongue like warm honey, or truths like poisoned wine. If I were a benevolent king, I would spare this one the stammering excuse and maybe smile to show her I mean no harm, to put her at ease. But I am no benevolent king—I’m not even really the king—and I am almost offended on Jude’s behalf for her sister’s recent string of disloyalty.

“She knows I have a key,” she responds weakly. Not a lie, but something tells me there is more to that than she lets on.

I nod slowly, surveying her surroundings, looking at what Taryn may have come across. I remember the paper in her hand, now hiding behind her back.

“What do you have there?” I ask, inclining my head toward her. I watch the uncertainty play across her features, but ultimately Taryn has more respect for Faerie customs than her twin, which is why she releases the note into my hand with her head low.

I unfold the note and survey its contents: **Oh + Bn |Na + Gn? | Oh + Na + Gn w/ Bn | Mc ?**

She also lists words with arrows pointing to the pairs of letters: **Crown, Power, Glory, Cardan**

My eyes trace hungrily over her script. It is the swirls of my name in her delicate handwriting that surprises me. The rest of her note is done in haste, scribbled as though she could not get her thoughts from pen to paper quickly enough. But my name is careful, considerate. It also has an arrow leading to the letters Na and splitting off towards Bn. Part of me thinks I should turn this over to the Roach and Bomb, but I know not of Jude’s intentions with her private notes. She went through great lengths to write in code—apart from my name, which is odd. While I am studying the meaning of her writing, Taryn waits anxiously in front of me, waiting to be dismissed, or waiting for me to leave so she may continue her snooping.

“Tell me,” I begin a low, heady tone akin to a powerful glamour, “do you love your sister Jude?”

Her reply is automatic. “Of course.”

“Just not as much as you love your own status?” I struggle to keep my tone even, but the curiosity sits heavy in my words. Twins do not occur in Faerie, and I have always been fascinated by them. During Gentry lessons, I would watch them communicate in looks alone. I have seen them find each other in mere seconds within a crowded room. I never missed the way one sister winced as her other was injured. By all accounts, I have always considered Taryn the better sister for the way she endured the trouble Jude got them into—though I am quick to remind myself that not all of Jude’s trouble was through fault of her own. It is a bitter pill I have yet to swallow, for fear of how that changes me.

Taryn is unsure of what to say, but I find myself eager for her honesty. “Go on; speak true.”

I watch as she swallows hard, lower lip trembling against the worrying of her teeth. “Jude was always the fighter. She made herself strong after we were made to feel so weak. Where I become sweeter, Jude became angrier. Where I became docile, Jude became fierce. Where I became a lady, Jude became a warrior. All she wanted—wants—is to fit in here. As do I.

I thought marrying Locke would give me some sense of belonging. Some…entitlement to the world I never asked to live in. But not Jude. She’d rather earn her place in Faerie. Maybe she wishes to prove her worth, I do not know. When the General is your father and also your father’s killer, when you grow to love someone who destroyed your world, it skews your sense of self. How could we love the very man who butchered our parents in front of our very eyes? How could we call a land that does not want us “home”? It feels like a betrayal within our very selves,” she concludes. It is as if she forgets she is speaking aloud at all.

“And so it is within your nature that you betray her.” I make the observation with condescension, though I know the hypocrisy of such a statement. The entire Greenbriar line was inbred with betraying our kin for the sake of ourselves.

Taryn, to her credit, does not flinch by the accusation. “She betrayed me. I asked her not to fight. I asked her to leave you and your friends alone.” 

“Ah, but you know what she is. You said so yourself. Always the fighter. She cannot help who she is any more than you can. As I recall, you were given a reprieve on the condition that you leave your sister to drown, and you took it. You were given a test to allow your sister to be manipulated and embarrassed by your now-husband, and you passed it. I wonder, how far will _you_ go to secure your place in Faerie?”

Before she can answer my rhetorical question, I fix a familiar sneer to my face, lest I become too affable. “Then of course, I watched my brother murder my entire family in cold blood, too drunk to care beyond my own neck. Who am I to judge betrayal?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not have a rigid posting schedule, but I anticipate on posting a new chapter every 2-4 days to keep up momentum.


	3. Chapter 3

The Living Council is _boring_. In fact, it is fucking boring. The word is one I heard from Rhyia by way of Vivienne, and occasionally from Jude herself. It is not said much in Faerie, but Jude mumbles it under her breath as though she is not allowed to say it. Something about the harsh click of the word on her tongue sends tingles down my spine when I overhear it.

The Ministers assigned to this Council drone on and on, as if they had not yet noticed the seneschal is not there, which is curious because she always is. From the entryway, I look at Madoc from across the dark wood and iron table. Since I have never been to one of these meetings, I wonder if Jude normally leads or awaits her turn to speak. I wonder if she is intimidated by Seelie and Unseelie Folk that are much older and well-established figureheads within Elfhame. I should ask her this when I see her. Or, I could just attend these things. She has asked me enough times. _Asked_ , I note with some intrigue, not commanded. Either she does not want me here or does not need me here. I am inclined to think it skews more towards the former.

Perk of being the High King: I do not wait for anyone. I interrupt a zealous appeal made by the ram-horned Minister of Keys, Randalin. “Did anyone wonder about the missing seneschal?” They all turn to me, clearly startled by my presence—except for the Grand General, who is the first to respond. 

“My daughter has been capricious as of late, what with her sister marrying a boy of mutual interest.” The curl of his lips reveals his protruding bottom teeth, the only indication that he himself is not too pleased with their merger either. 

 _Then you do not know Jude_ , I think to myself. Her position is one of power, and despite what Locke or Taryn are willing to believe to stroke their own egos, she would not waste such an opportunity on her fancies. Not with only half a year to use me as her obedient pawn.

Before I am pulled farther into this meeting, a knight interrupts in haste. As I stand in the doorway, he is concealed behind the wall from the Council. He speaks low and intentionally, not wishing to reveal the information he has to any overzealous ears. “Your Majesty, you are requested in your private chambers. Your advisor wishes to speak with you and claims it is a matter of urgency.”

I nod once, affixing a perfected mask of arrogance and indifference. It is the one I have worn all my life. “Well, Council, this has been a treat. Until next time.”

I hear a couple voices of protest. “Your Highness, if we could just speak with you about—.“ “High King, it is imperative we discuss what is occurring within—.” I barely hear them over the white noise in my ears. Something is amiss, and it must be about Jude. The Roach rarely makes his presence known outside of the Court.

When I enter my chambers, the Roach is there. He gives me a look, signaling me to dismiss my guards, so I do without question.

“We need to head down to the Court. The Bomb has Vulciber there.” He immediately leads the way, and I uncharacteristically trail behind.

“You found him? Is Jude there as well?”

He shakes his head, sparing a sideways glance towards me now that I have caught up to his pace. “No, but I believe he knows where she is. We have confirmed he was with the Ghost last night.”

When we arrive to the dim cavern, Vulciber is tied to a chair, blood trickling from his nose, trembling against the tight restraints. Interrogations must have already begun--he looks grotesque enough.

The Bomb is leaning against a stone wall, silently fuming. “He refuses to speak. We found him at the Tower of Forgetting. All prisoners escaped, including your brother. Snapdragon and I could not get him to tell us anything. Where is the Queen when you need her? She would have gutted him by now.”

The casual manner in which she depicts Jude’s violence makes me wince. She is right, though.

“What did they promise you?” I ask him directly.

Vulciber looks at me, showing uncertainty for the first time. It is one thing to disregard spies. It is wholly another to lie to the High King. His execution hangs in the balance; he knows it. I note he is also surprised by the question, as though he believes I know more about whatever he has done than I do. I know Balekin; he will find the innermost desires of the weak and sweeten the pot with indulgences he will never fulfill, doing so on the Greenbriar name and Blood Crown.

“H-he said I could serve him. I could s-serve him at the palace as his personal guard,” he stutters out.

“Who said?” I demand, but I already know the answer.

“The true High King Balekin.”

That should infuriate me, but I laugh instead. The Bomb subtly rolls her eyes at my outburst. The Roach only gives me a brief glance of curiosity before he opens his mouth to negate Vulciber, or perhaps he means to interrogate him further, but I do not find out. A booming explosion shakes the walls and sends objects dislodged from shelves and rocks hurling from the ceiling. We immediately take shelter, with the Roach grabbing Vulciber and pulling him beneath a table. The cacophony of noise and violent shaking is disorienting and unlike anything I have experienced.

“What is happening?” I shout, but no one hears me. Another explosion goes off, louder and more destructive than the first. I cover my ears too late. The sound echoes painfully, reverberating like a caged bird flitting through my brain. The Bomb seems to understand what is taking place for she quickly makes a run for the tunnels that lead us back into the palace, but not without roughly grabbing my collar and hauling me to my feet. We hurtle through falling debris, narrowly avoiding avalanches that threaten to wipe us all out. The Roach is dragging Vulciber but hardly concerned for his welfare. I see Vulciber knocking into walls like a ball kicked between a group of friends.

Without any of us sparing a glance behind, the home of the Court of Shadows is no more.

 

\- - - -

“Start talking, you filthy shit!”

We barely made it through the doors of my parlor when the Roach has Vulciber pinned to the wall and his meaty, clawed hand clutching his throat. The Bomb ran out almost immediately to investigate the explosions and check on the other members of the Court who may have been caught in the blows. Knights run through the halls, presumably searching for me and checking the source of the bombings. I peak my head out of the door, slowing the brigade of rushing knights and leave the Roach to it.

“Your Majesty, we need to evacuate to safe-hold room. There seems to be an attack to the side of hill for reasons unknown.” Except, I know the reason. Whoever is behind it intentionally wanted to destroy the Court of Shadows, which means they had to have known where the Court’s lair was hidden. Things start clicking into place, but with everything happening at once, I do not know where to direct my thoughts. 

"I am fine. I will stay he--"

“King, you are needed in here!” the Roach shouts to me.

“Your Highness, who is there with you? Are you under duress?” The knight steps towards me, making as if to force entry through me and into the room.

I hear the Roach growl and strain with effort. “King!” 

“Your Highness, you must evacuate immediately. We will lead you out. The Grand General gave us orders to get you out of here.”

My head is spinning. I want so desperately to sink to my knees and cover my ears that still ring with the explosions. _Jude, where are you_? She would know to the handle the knights, deal with the exasperated Roach, acquire information from Vulciber. She would get it all done without a moment's hesitation, without crumbling under the pressure like I seem to be doing. She juggled all these things so impeccably well. Why did I never pay attention? I steel myself and think what Jude would do, and hope it is enough of a pretense to be convincing.

With my shoulders back and head high, I look every bit the High King I am not. “You are employed to protect me and take orders from _me_ , is that not correct?” I command the knights. “I will not be removed. Secure the palace and round up healers to aid in the injuries. Post two guards outside this door and do not let anyone in save for the pixie with white hair.”

I slam the doors to my parlor and ask the Roach for a blade. If I were Jude, I would have four or five or ten of them on me. She keeps them hidden everywhere, cunning girl. I have seen her pull a thin blade from her mass of hair to beneath her bodice. I am inclined to think she is never more than mere inches from a sharp object she can fashion into a knife. I decide then and there I will arm myself in the same way. I am not particularly skilled around a sword as Jude is, but I am not without strength and, more importantly, power.

“You have information I want, and I will not hesitate to carve into into every limb and orifice of your body until I am satisfied with your response. If you are lucky, I will exile you to regions beyond so you can live out your miserable life without festering my kingdom. If you so much as annoy me beyond my current threshold, I will make your pathetic life unbearable. You will eat off the floors from your own cell in the Tower of Forgetting, if I remember to feed you at all.”

Not long after that does he spill whatever is in that pea-size brain of his. There are limits to what he known, but I am pale and sick to my stomach with the gist of it. Balekin and Orlagh have been working together; this I know. The Ghost has been duplicitous and led Jude straight to them. She was ambushed; there was no way out for her. The Queen of the Undersea has Jude. Even more sickening, my brother has Jude.

I step back from a shaking, crying Vulciber who begs for mercy and his life. The Roach snaps his neck without further discussion, but I cannot seem to process the turn of events. We have been betrayed. Jude is in the Undersea.

My breath comes in rapid pants that I fear I may faint. They will not treat her kindly. They will certainly glamour her into submission and obedience. Play games with her safety and sanity because they can. Torture her for information. Nicasia is there, too. Nicasia will be cruel and humiliate her. Nicasia barely contained herself on land. I do not wish to imagine what she will do in her own territory.

“Cardan!” The Roach stands in front of me, hands on my shoulders, shaking me out of my downward spiral. “Keep it together. I doubt Orlagh foolish enough to squander her advantage—not permanently, anyway,” he grimaces. “It is their only ace right now. She is their leverage, and now we play our hand.”

I cannot make sense of his words right now. Jude is there because of me. In so many ways, in every way, her capture leads back to my doing, my ineptitude. The horror she will encounter is my fault.

The Bomb rushes in through the guards, looking frantic and as if she is moments from retching on herself. “It was the Ghost!” she exclaims. “Ghost set off the bombs!”

She takes a look at my face and Roach’s, then her eyes settle on Vulciber and widen in surprise.

The Roach speaks to my relief, because I fully believe the only words my mouth is capable of right now is “my fault”.

“We know. The Ghost was working with Balekin and or Queen Orlagh. Or maybe neither, but he sure as hell was not working for us. He led Jude to them. They have her.”

“They have her?” she repeats. “Have her where?” She says it as if she already knows—and dreads—the answer.

“Undersea.” 

Her reaction is pure and does nothing to alleviate the pain in my chest. She clutches her hand over her heart, the softest gasp of “oh” whooshing from her mouth. “Do we think she is still alive?”

“I believe they will keep her a prisoner and offer an exchange once she has served her use to them,” he answers.  _Served her use to them_. 

She nods. “I was able to disable another three bombs around the palace’s perimeter, and I have a few others searching and dismantling more with my deactivation powder. Niniel was badly burned. More are injured. We are lucky it was not worse.” 

“Well done,” Roach tells her. “Your Highness, _Cardan_ ,” he says to me, “you should alert Madoc. See what he is willing to do to get his daughter back. We could use his alliance right now.”

“You think he will?” the Bomb asks. “He seems intent on thwarting her every opportunity he gets. Maybe this is his chance to cast her aside and plot without interference.” 

No, I do not believe that to be true. With the little I know about Jude’s relationship with her father, or pseudo-father, he believes he can win her over to his side. I also recall his distaste for Orlagh, though I do not recall Jude’s reasoning for it. “I will go speak to Madoc,” I nod. “In the meantime, can we get someone from the Undersea to confirm her whereabouts and condition? 

The Roach nods. “Leave that to me. Liliver, I could use your help.” 

With that, I make my way towards the High General’s strategy room, practicing my revelation and wishing all the while I did not have to make it.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: What belongs to Holly Black, belongs to Holly Black.


End file.
